


Not All That Common

by giantessmess



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Rizzles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantessmess/pseuds/giantessmess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maura Isles knows there's something different about her working friendship with Jane Rizzoli. Playing with something slow-burning here, eventual Rizzles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Maura snapped on her gloves and examined the head wound in a quick once-over. She could feel Jane’s breath tickling the back of her neck as the detective leant behind her.

“Crowding my personal space isn’t going to make this any quicker, Jane.”

“Well, it’s not like she wacked herself over the head.”

“It seems more likely that she fell onto—” Maura narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to trick me into guessing. I’d rather get her onto my table first.”

“She is dead, though,” Jane muttered. 

“Of course.”

Standing up, she almost collided right into Jane who was indeed far too close than was necessary. Jane greeted her with an elaborate eye roll, but Maura simply tilted her head with a smile as if she had no idea what Jane’s expression meant. Another eye roll and a sigh ensured.

“Fine. Tell me what you find.”

She had long since gotten used to the back and forth that involved sharing a crime scene with Jane. Even if her boundaries as a Medical Examiner weren’t always respected, she knew it had nothing to do with her. It was just Jane being Jane, wanting more from a preliminary examination than was honestly possible to declare definitively. And Jane wanted that because she cared, more than most. Even after years working homicides, they were never just bodies to Jane. They were people who needed the rest of their story told. Maura didn’t take that responsibility lightly either.

 

It wasn’t common for a Chief Medical Examiner to attend a lot of crime scenes, but Maura made it a habit to be there, at least on the cases that Jane was called in to. It also wasn’t common for a single homicide detective to spend so much time down in the morgue. Of course detectives needed to be involved with the procedures involving their victims, to be intimate with the details of their cases. It was good to have a healthy relationship with the M.E’s office. Maura knew her relationship with Jane surpassed the expectations between their departments. It surpassed a lot of her own expectations too.

The autopsy was routine enough, but Jane was down there watching her too closely as she finished. She smiled to herself as she presented the cause of death with a quiet nod, along with some of the additional forensics her team had gathered from under the victim’s fingernails. 

“You get a hit from CODIS?”

“Yes.”

“You’re amazing,” Jane said. “You know that right?”

She shrugged, feeling a little bit thrown by the enthusiasm, even if Jane did have a tendency to get excited about good evidence.

“Yes,” she said simply.

Jane laughed, smiling deeply enough to show off her dimples. She ran a hand through her hair and nodded.

“Ok, let’s go get this sucker.” Jane paused before heading out of the double doors, turning back with a quick smile. “Drinks at the Robber tonight, right?”

“Naturally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very small taste of something I'm planning on developing with a solid Maura POV. We'll see if it works.


	2. Chapter 2

Jane had beaten her to it. Maura caught sight of her, seated at their usual booth, and was struck for a moment by the way Jane’s hair fell around her face. Jane was frowning, staring at her hands and at the beer nestled between them. As Maura approached, Jane’s expression brightened considerably. There was already a glass of wine waiting beside her.

“Thanks,” Maura said, sipping. Her eyes widened in appreciation and Jane smirked into her own swig of beer. 

“See? I pay attention. Gold star for me.”

Maura shuffled closer, sliding Jane the wine with a small nodded offer.

“It really is quite nice.”

Jane took a mouthful from Maura’s glass and Maura helped herself to Jane’s bottle of beer, trying not to be cognizant of where Jane’s lips had just been. However, letting her mind drift she swore she could taste something that was very _Jane_. But perhaps that simply meant Jane tasted like beer.

“Ok,” Jane said, making grabby hands. “Enough, Share Bear, save some for me.”

“Why am I a bear?”

Jane rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Did you know that Peruvian males commonly share the same glass, when drinking beer in group settings?”

“Maura.” 

“However you’re not supposed to finish the full glass before passing it to the next person. It’s customary to pour the dregs onto the floor.”

“You do that in the Dirty Robber, Maur, and we’re not gonna be allowed back in.”

“It’s an homage to Mother Earth, Jane.”

Jane let out a small whine and flopped her head back a little.

“Too tired for Googlemouth.”

“Have you been eating well enough?” Maura frowned, trying to check Jane’s face for the common signs of vitamin deficiencies. “You’ll be surprised by how your mood will alter if you consume the requisite amount of leafy green—“

“Ugh,” Jane muttered, her hand on her face. “Still in Google, trying to click out of browser. Failing.”

“Fine,” Maura said, smiling thinly. “I’m cooking you something healthy tomorrow night. No arguments.”

“Not quinoa again, ok?” Jane whined. “It tastes like milkweed and terror.”

“It does not. But I am pleased to hear you pronouncing it correctly, finally.”

“That’s ‘cause you made me repeat it a trillion times.”

Maura often found the sensations that came with their banter somewhat perplexing. Even in the midst of a friendly disagreement, she felt the warmth of it settling inside her chest. The feel of whiskey is similar as it flushes the skin, sending blood flow through to your extremities. She didn’t have to check to note the sheen of warmth over her skin at this moment. She wondered if Jane experienced something similar, or if she was imagining the blush spreading across Jane's face as she downed the last of her beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll try to make the chapters less flimsy from now on, I just had to post this now that I had it.


	3. Chapter 3

She’d knocked on the door four times exactly and so Maura felt entitled to use her key. She placed her bag on the kitchen counter and took in the mess inside the sink with a turned up nose. Running first, cleaning later. Even if she could see the old cereal solidifying on the rim of the bowl.

She padded quickly to Jane’s bedroom and pushed in without hesitation.

“I know you’re awake, Jane.”

Jane groaned and pulled a pillow over her face.

“No, no, no,” she muttered.

Maura frowned.

“You didn’t have that much to drink.”

“Can’t you run by yourself?”

Maura didn’t answer. She simply stood there feeling the disappointment hit her like a spasmodic anomaly in her cardiac rhythm—a small hurt that didn’t truly make sense, even as she felt it. This prompted Jane to peek out at her through the bedclothes. 

“Ok, don’t… I’m sorry. Give me a minute, ok?”

Maura didn’t budge, she tilted her head and took in the sight of Jane’s disheveled hair, the dark circles under her eyes. She hummed.

“What?” Jane said.

“You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I do,” Jane sighed, sliding her legs onto the floor. She looked up at Maura with an apologetic expression. “I will, alright? I slept badly, that’s all. I’m fine. See?” She stood quickly, but winced and closed her eyes. When she opened them it appeared that she hoped Maura hadn’t noticed, but when Maura continued to frown Jane gave up.

“It’s a hangover, that’s all.”

“A popular and efficient preventative strategy is to drink copious amounts of water to counterbalance the toxicity of the alcohol in your system.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Jane muttered. “Now can I get dressed?”

“Five minutes.”

“You’re really gonna make me do this?”

Maura sighed. She reached out and pushed a strand of Jane’s hair out of her face, before she could stop herself.

“Breakfast then,” she said. “I’ll go make you a coffee, but you’re going to drink at least two glasses of water before I’ll let you have it.”

Jane’s smile made her feel all kinds of warm inside. Without knowing why, she let out a small laugh.

 

Maura gave up on the contents of Jane’s fridge shortly after she’d opened it. 

“These same eggs were here a month ago.”

Jane reached towards the steaming cup of coffee waiting on the counter in front of her. She raised her eyebrows and blinked demurely when Maura narrowed her eyes.

“Drank all the water like a good girl. Look.”

Maura gave the empty glass a cursory glance and nodded, which was all Jane needed. She cupped the mug of coffee and inhaled, making a noise that was downright indecent.

“This is the bread I bought you last week, Jane.”

“Mmmm, hmmmm,” Jane said into her sip, not looking up.

“There’s nothing here worth turning into a meal.”

“There’s Lucky Charms?”

Maura smiled and shook her head in disbelief.

“You clearly need something rich in B vitamins and antioxidants.”

“Marshmallows don’t have that?” Jane asked, rolling her eyes in response to Maura’s immediate frown. “Ok, ok, we’ll go out then.”

“I’m in my running outfit.”

“It’s cute.”

Maura broke into a smile, raising her eyebrows. Jane simply let out a groan into her next sip of coffee.

“Ugh, you know what I mean,” she said. “Actually, scratch breakfast. I’m not even hungry. I’ll just have all of the coffee forever.”

“You’re eating,” Maura said, watching Jane affectionately as she tipped the cup as high as she could to get the last few drips. “You kept drinking last night, didn’t you?”

Jane blinked and turned her head. 

“What?”

“When you got home. I can tell you did because of your body’s slow recovery.”

“Fine. Yes. I pickled my liver last night, ok?”

“Cirrhosis isn’t really the same as pickling, Jane. Your liver isn’t contained in a pristine jar environment common to food preservation.”

“Ugh, you make my head hurt,” Jane said, heading into the kitchen with her cup. She frowned. “Where’d you put my instant coffee?”

“I made you real coffee,” Maura said, a smirk moving across her face. “You can’t tell the difference?”

“Where did I get this so-called ‘real’ coffee?”

“I bought it.” She crossed her arms and let out a sigh, watching as Jane fumbled with the coffee grounds. “It’s not like you to drink so much.”

Jane didn’t respond, because she was frowning at the machine. 

“Jane?”

“I was in a mood," Jane said, finally.

“Why?” 

Jane shrugged and didn’t look at her, but Maura saw her smile.

“Maybe I was drinking with those _Peruvians_ who share beer glasses, and we got a bit too into it.”

“Funny.”

“I think so," Jane said. She sighed then and gave Maura a look of childish annoyance. “Maur, I don’t know how to make the coffee like you make it.”

Maura moved quickly, feeling Jane watch her as she poured and stirred. They weren’t standing so close, but there was a tension between them that was hard to define. Maura noted that she didn’t find it unpleasant. She enjoyed the look on Jane’s face as her lips found the coffee cup, and the pleasing sigh that followed.


	4. Chapter 4

On cold days, Jane’s scars tended to ache. Maura knew this, not only because Jane had mentioned it in a soft voice one or two times after they’d curled up on her couch late into the night, but because she could see the way Jane flexed her hands trying to shift the pain away. Every time she saw this, Maura had to fight the urge to take hold of those hands, to delicately find the trigger point for the pain with her own fingers. She felt the wanting behind it and it made her face flush. Yes, treating the body’s pressure points is an excellent method of working with scar tissue. But the embarrassing fact was that though she did have the noble aspiration to coax the pain away, she knew she also simply needed it—to touch Jane’s hands for a moment. 

There was a sprinkling of rain outside where they were gathered, and the cold wind cut through every layer she had on. Maura’s concern should have been about the way this weather was going to damage her crime scene, but she kept glancing at Jane’s hands, cataloguing their movements. Jane caught her. She met Maura’s concerned look with a frown that wasn’t so much annoyed, but dismissive. Maura cautioned herself to direct her attention to the body splayed out on the concrete in front of her. She studied the lividity, the contusions on the man’s throat and face. She made a few mental notes for later and stared back at Jane.

“I want to help, you know.”

Jane furrowed her brow.

“With the cause of death? I should hope so.”

“Jane, I told you trigger point therapy is a great pain reliever.”

Jane rolled her eyes, but she seemed to fiddle with her hands unconsciously.

“You worry too much,” she said, before nodding back at the body. “Can I call that smear on the ground next to him blood? Or do you think it’s ketchup?”

“You know what my answer is.”

Jane smiled to herself and stood, stretching a little from being crouched for so long in the cold.

“Look, it’s not that painful. It aches a bit, that’s it.”

 

The morgue had an extra chill to it that day, but as she was the only living thing inside it Maura didn’t think to mind. She felt the stiffness settling into her limbs as she began the Y-incision. She peeled back the skin and broke the chest open, methodically collecting and weighing all the important parts of this man, who had found his way onto her table. The bruising on his neck was consistent with the effect of a heavy shoe, coming down full-force. But that didn’t necessarily mean his heart or liver, or indeed his stomach contents, wouldn’t have a story to tell her. She knew to hear him out. She was patient. 

Jane wasn’t. 

“Do you have the results for the boot yet?”

“Shoe,” Maura said, looking up from her autopsy table. “We can’t be sure it’s a boot, Jane. And no, not yet.”

“But if you could estimate the shoe size, the type of shoe…”

“I could, but I won’t.”

Jane was quiet for a moment and Maura found herself continuing with her work, content to let Jane watch with her arms crossed. But when Jane spoke again, she could hear the smile in her voice.

“I guess it’s too hard to tell if the killer has a male or female foot.”

Maura smiled without glancing up to confirm the teasing look on Jane’s face.

“Nice try.”

Jane came in closer then, watching from over Maura’s shoulder. Her breath was warm, much warmer than the general air temp in the room. 

“Can a woman even do that much damage?” Jane asked.

“If she employs the right kind of violent blow, yes, “ Maura said. “And it would depend on her build. Her height and weight.”

“Basically we know nothing.”

“It is unlikely that a woman would pursue this kind of aggressive act. Stomping is more commonly found in male perpetrators.”

“Yeah, obviously. So can we call this male?”

Maura put down her scalpel and shot Jane a bemused smile.

“Patience is a virtue.”

Jane rolled her eyes.

“Never claimed to be virtuous.”

“Did you know that hymen-replacement surgery is becoming increasingly commonplace, even in western countries?”

“What? Ugh, Maura. No.”

“Well, in highly religious cultures, it is expected that a bride will bleed on her wedding night."

“Maura, just…” Jane pulled a face. “I’m sure as hell not gonna bleed on our wedding night.”

Maura watched Jane widen her eyes a little, amused to see the embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Jane let out a laugh then, probably more out of bravado than anything else.

“I swear I have no plans to marry you.”

Maura smiled.

“That’s a shame. Here,” she pulled away from her autopsy table and removed her gloves. Before Jane could register anything, Maura had grabbed hold of her hands. “It’s about finding the exact spot the scar tissue is enflaming, and pressing…”

Jane let out a sound that could only be described as a squeak, her eyes blinking open as she stared at Maura in disbelief.

“Why did you…” Jane breathed out, the pain on her face quickly turning to relief. “Oh.”

Maura smiled gently, not wanting to let Jane’s hands go. So she didn’t.

“I’ve read up on trigger point therapy, but it's considerably complex. I’m not a qualified physiotherapist.”

“No, you’re a goddamn genius, is what you are.”

Maura couldn’t stop smiling, she also couldn’t stop staring at Jane. The admiration in Jane’s expression made her feel very warm. She didn’t even realize right away that she was stroking Jane’s hands affectionately, not until Jane removed them from her grasp.

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. She had no way to control how fast her heart was beating. She tried to find something to say, but only managed to sound nervous. “I’m sorry.”

She risked a look at Jane and found her simply waiting, a patient smile on her face.

“it’s ok, Maur. I didn’t mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I have absolutely no background in forensic science (or physiotherapy), and so any and all scientific details are based on the cursory understanding that comes with limited research.  
> Hope I sounded like Maura there.


	5. Chapter 5

The cold in the air was less noticeable once they started to move. Maura was aware of the irony that she didn’t need this run to speed up her heart rate. Hearts are astounding things. She knew her senses were more alert than usual, thanks to the efforts of the four major systems originating in her brainstem. An increased standing heart rate could point to fear or arousal, perhaps both. We never really control the body—it controls us.

“Why are you so quiet, anyway?”

Jane was running right alongside her, matching her stride without any effort. Maura could make out the movements of Jane’s body without having to glance for very long, noting her bare legs that were covered in a slight sheen of sweat. She swallowed, making an attempt to concentrate on her breathing. On her strike pattern. On making this about the adrenaline hit waiting for her when she pushed her body hard enough. 

“Maura?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Because running was your idea, you know,” Jane huffed. “And you look pissed.”

Maura didn’t glance at Jane. She stared straight ahead at the path, watching the scattering of people walking their dogs and other couples out for a run. The thought that she and Jane were some version of a couple gave her pause—the sudden flush she felt wasn’t from exercise. She was becoming less sure that this was something you could physically outrun.

“Are we normal, Jane?”

She heard Jane laugh.

“No.”

Maura slowed her stride. Something in the look she gave made Jane’s amused expression fall.

“You’re being serious?”

“I’ve never had any close female friends. I don’t have a scale, or criteria, or even a pattern of behavior to weigh this against.”

Jane put a hand on Maura’s shoulder then, slowing them both down to a stop. They were both a little out of breath, and Jane wiped the sweat from her forehead with a raised arm.

“I didn’t realize I was being tested.”

“Not you,” Maura said. And there it was, that panic. That fear. The excitement, even, which made her weigh her words carefully. Made her doubt her own brain. “Me, Jane. Me.”

Maura closed her eyes and tried some meditative breathing, because now she had to deal with increased cortisol in her system. She breathed through her teeth—in and out. Jane must have been staring at her.

“Maura, are those hives?”

“I’m feeling,” she breathed, “…quite stressed.”

Maura felt Jane’s hand stroking her cheek, her hair, coming to rest on the back of her neck.

“Sweetheart, why?”

She shook her head. She didn’t really know.

“You’re in the friend category,” she managed to say, opening her eyes. Jane looked confused, worried. Maura blinked. “I don’t know if I have any other friends and you can’t just breech established categories. I’d have no one left.”

“Maura you’re not making any sense,” Jane said, smiling with affection. “And I don’t think it’s because I can’t decode that big brain of yours this time.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Maura admitted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You know you’ll always have me, don’t you?”

Maura nodded, letting out a small sigh as Jane kissed her forehead. She was afraid to move, certain she’d forgotten how to do basic things like standing, like walking.

“Don’t scare me like this, ok?”

Maura managed to nod once more.

“Ok.” 

Ancient Egyptians believed the heart had a will of its own and moved freely throughout the human body. It was so powerful an organ that it was weighed against you in the afterlife. Maura could understand this, after all our modern notions of listening to your ‘heart’ came from this very place in time. If she were judged similarly, with her heart on a scale to test the weight of her worth in life, would she fail? Pass? Would her long list of broken and barely-started relationships be the markers of her inability to use this essential part of her? Her heart.  
Of course, the brain was the real sex organ. The heart had nothing to do with romantic choices. Jane would say…what would Jane say? She’d certainly pull a face. Disagree. Or more likely, refuse to even have the conversation. 

“Maura,” Jane was still standing so close, no longer touching but staring carefully right at her. “Are you really ok?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer truthfully. She shook her head.

“Come on,” Jane said softly. “Maybe we’ve run enough for today.”


	6. Chapter 6

Maura wouldn't say she was grateful for the dead body stretched out on the table in front of her, but it certainly provided a welcome distraction. A man in his late forties, throat crushed in a similar manner to the last victim. She would have to examine him thoroughly to be sure, but it was likely his cause of death was also cerebral hypoxia. She frowned.

Jane strode down to get the results just as Maura was finishing up the autopsy.

"It's the same killer, isn't it?"

Maura tilted her head a little.

"Jane."

"Oh, come on."

"I don't need to tell you that a lot of victims can present with similar patterns…"

"Right." Jane sighed, before giving Maura a small nod. "You look good today."

"What?"

Jane closed her eyes and seemed to laugh at herself a little.

"Better. I meant better." Jane shook her head. "I thought maybe you were coming down with something."

"Apophenia," Maura said, definitely.

Jane raised her eyebrows.

"That sounds contagious."

Maura smiled.

"It refers to the human tendency to see meaningful patterns where there are none. I was making a point about the case."

"Oh were you? Well, don't forget the last guy was a John too."

"A lot of men seek the company of prostitutes."

"And get their throats stomped on and die a few streets from each other. Within days of each other? Maura, really?" Jane said, but she seemed distracted. She gave Maura an evaluating look.

"What?"

"It's just…" Jane said. "You were kind of freaking out before. And if I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding the subject."

Maura didn't say anything, because whatever it was would surely lend itself to a lie.

"Maura."

"I prefer to call it delicately side-stepping a potentially awkward encounter."

Jane blinked, trying to process this.

"Why would it be awkward?"

Maura opened her mouth, but she gave up and closed it again, smiling with an apologetic shrug.

"Jesus, it can't be that bad."

"I didn't say it was bad, Jane."

"I mean, you're not dying are you?"

"Jane! No."

"You're not moving to Antarctica?"

"Jane."

"I know! You're the mother of Michael Jackson's third kid?"

Maura brought her hand over her mouth to stop the laugh from coming out too loudly. She shook her head and tried to look offended.

"You're not funny."

"Really? Signs point to me being damn hilarious."

Maura was trying, truly she was. If she catalogued the evidence she'd be able to confirm the signs of attraction in Jane's behavior. The only problem was her own mental capacity— Wegner argues that cognitive control requires two processes, and this was clearly one of those circumstances where they weren't functioning in sync with each other. She could tell by her rapidly beating heart, and the way her mind wandered when she tried to focus. Jane's eye contact was a sign, staring for just that little bit too long. And her smile, God it was a nice smile, the teasing kind that made it so hard not to take those few steps forward. One or two and that's all it would take. Maura swallowed, fidgeting with her hands before checking to see if Jane was doing the same. In the end, she just blurted it.

"We should go out."

Jane's eyes widened.

"We…what?"

Maura smiled, but she was blushing, feeling the nerves like a shot of adrenaline that made her voice waver. She swallowed again.

"On a date. I can't seem to assess whether it's a good idea, but it's the only one I've managed to formulate so far."

"A date?" Jane seemed stuck on this one thought and Maura could see the signs of withdrawal, the averted eyes. The defensive posture, Jane's arms wrapping around herself.

"A romantic one," Maura clarified, hoping that would help. Jane smiled uneasily, her eyes meeting Maura's quickly, before darting away.

"I figured."

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

Jane was frowning, shaking her head. Maura blinked back something hot—it found its way down her throat, settling into her chest and was beginning to physically ache.

But then, Jane let out a laugh.

"Is this your idea of romance, Maur? Asking me out over a corpse?"

Maura frowned uncertainly. Jane was playing with her hands, wringing them like she was trying to rid herself of nervous tension. Her smile was hiding something behind it.

"I was trying to be practical, and you did ask what was wrong."

Jane sighed, closing her eyes. She rubbed the ridge of her nose with two fingers, but she was still smiling. A softer smile now, that seemed to relax her posture. Maura latched onto that.

"You are the weirdest person I know," Jane said.

Maura tilted her head, managing half a smile of her own because Jane was looking at her fondly now. She felt incredibly warm suddenly. Nervous. Terrified.

"There is clear evidence of physical attraction. I only thought…" she shook her head. She was this close to babbling out scientific facts and studies to cover up the fact that she had no idea what she was doing. She had no plan. No back up plan. She had nothing. Generally, she was much better at seduction. Perhaps the problem here was that she cared too much about this, and that made failure all the more crippling.

"Can we not do this…." Jane shrugged, gesturing at the walls of the morgue like she suddenly found something wrong with them. "I can't do this right now, it's…"

Maura closed her eyes. But she felt Jane's hand then, a soft touch on her neck. Jane trailed her fingers upwards before cupping Maura's face. Maura opened her eyes and let out a nervous breath. Jane looked terrified, but she was still there, trying to make some point with the way her gaze didn't waver.

"I hate it when you look like that."

Maura frowned again.

"Like what?"

"It's like I've killed a puppy or something, and it would be adorable if it didn't make me feel like total shit."

Maura smiled, her lip curling up slyly.

"You _should_ feel bad, Jane."

Jane laughed, her face opening up a little like she found Maura's teasing tone a relief. She took her hand away and Maura missed the sensation immediately.

"Later, alright? Can we do this later?"

"If by _this_ you mean…"

"Maura," Jane rolled her eyes upwards, just once. "Later. At yours. Not here where the dead people can see us."

Maura let out a disbelieving laugh as Jane walked off to the elevators. She was about to turn back to her work, but before she did she caught it—that small moment where Jane looked back at her. Jane's face broke into a nervous smile when she found Maura still staring at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can't tell how hard this chapter was to write, but there it is. I hope it was at least somewhat enjoyable.


	7. Chapter 7

Jane had her own key, and Maura could tell she’d used it by the smells coming from her kitchen. 

“Nothing fancy,” Jane nodded at the steaming pot on the stove, which filled the house with the smell of oregano, of tomatoes cooked down to their sweetest potency. “I managed to burn the damn onions and the pasta is sticking together. Never tell Ma.”

“I won’t,” Maura said. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me until you manage to keep it down.”

Jane always did that, sold herself short in little ways to break up whatever traces of tension she sensed around her. Maura knew she shouldn’t find it as adorable as she did, but Jane always got this look on her face. This hesitant, almost shy smile that revealed something soft about her for a moment. Until she covered it up with a mutter or a sigh, or any other gesture that worked to scare people off.

“Jane…”

“Can’t we eat first?” Jane said, her voice a tiny bit higher than usual. “Please?”

“This doesn’t have to be unpleasant,” Maura said. “We’re not attending your funeral.”

“God, ok. I know that,” Jane sighed. “I’m just hungry.”

Maura let her eyes settle on Jane, taking her in more closely. She was tired, her eyes fighting to stay open. Her body slow to move, clumsy as she fumbled with the dishes.

“Here, let me,” she put a hand on Jane’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll bring the food to you.”

Jane’s posture seemed to relax, she smiled gratefully and didn’t even argue about being ushered onto the couch instead of the table. Maura tolerated the way she put her feet on the coffee table, but she pursed her lips.

“Shoes off, Jane.”

“Right.”

Maura brought the bowls of pasta with her, sitting as close as she dared to Jane. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to imagine they were. Jane ate in huge mouthfuls, managing to get a few specks of sauce on the corners of her mouth. Maura watched her wipe them away, wishing she had the bravery to reach over and do it herself. A simple brush of her fingers and she’d be able to know the feel of Jane’s lips. She forced herself to eat, counting down the moments until it would be ok for her to ask for this, this thing she seemed to want so badly. 

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

She blinked up in confusion.

“What?”

“The pasta,” Jane said. “You’re eating real quietly.”

Maura sighed, pushing her dish onto the floor without much thought. 

“You might say I’m distracted,” she said, trying to sound flirtatious, but managing only to sound nervous. 

“Yeah,” Jane said, closing her eyes for a moment. 

“I kind of…” Maura hesitated, looking at Jane, looking slightly to the left of her. “I kind of want to kiss you.”

Jane visibly blushed, though she didn’t flinch, she didn’t pull away. She laughed once, nervously.

“Maura,” she said, her voice low, gravelly. Maura tried not to enjoy the sound as much as she did, tried not to feel it reverberating throughout her body.

“This is what we were going to talk about, Jane. I don’t see the point in dancing around it.”

“Just…give a girl warning before you…” Jane gestured vaguely with her hands.

“I’m not going to kiss you if you clearly object to it,” Maura said.

“It’s not…” Jane said, looking around as if she anticipated an audience was about to appear. “I’m not gay.”

Maura didn’t nod or shake her head. She simply watched and waited, which seemed to annoy Jane a great deal.

“What? I’m not.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you were looking.”

“This is how I always look at you.”

“I know, but…”

“Do you dislike it?”

Jane closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath. It made Maura physically hurt, watching this. Seeing Jane so uncomfortable.

“No.” Jane met Maura’s eyes then. “I like it. A lot. It just…does things.”

“Sexually arouses you?”

“Maura!” Jane widened her eyes. She laughed, and shook her head, reaching out to touch Maura’s arm on reflex. “Jesus, the way you put things sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, it’s goddamn adorable. But, Jesus.”

“Adorable?” Maura tilted her head. Jane still hadn’t removed her hand. And her fingers seemed to have a life of their own, caressing Maura’s arm in soft little stokes. 

“Adorable,” Jane said, with a confidence that Maura wasn’t expecting. Jane eyed her affectionately. “Look, this is hard. I’m not gonna lie.”

“Being attracted to me is hard?”

Jane laughed despite herself.

“No, being…whatever-the-hell that clearly isn’t straight. Because…”

“Does that really matter to you?” Maura asked, trying to catch Jane, to stop her from making a joke, from smiling too nervously. “Jane? In all honesty, does it matter what we call ourselves?”

Jane shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

“What do you call yourself?”

“Maura,” she said. “I’m Maura, you’re Jane. Sometimes it’s simple. It can be simple.”

Jane sighed.

“Well, it’s not that easy for everyone.”

“I realize that.”

“I’m not good at this.”

“But it’s me, Jane. It’s just me.”

“I know, Maura. And don’t you think that’ll make it harder if I screw this whole thing up, because of my whatever-the-fuck sexuality crisis at age 37?”

“Are you having a crisis?”

“You think?” Jane said, raising her eyebrows. “Because wanting to sleep with your female best friend, that’s normal?”

Maura couldn’t control her body’s response to that, the breathless feeling that hit her suddenly. 

“I can’t pretend I know what normal is,” she said gently. 

“But don’t you have some study to quote, like about occipital spatulas in friendships between women from the school of Fancy Science?”

Maura laughed through her noise, flushing a little with pleasure at the slight teasing tone that had found its way into Jane’s voice. Jane smiled back, and for a moment it was as if nothing had changed.

“You’re referring to the outer orbicularis oculi pars lateralis.”

“Obviously, it was on the tip of my tongue,” Jane smirked.

“And no, I don’t believe you and I are wired with the standard best friend hardware,” she said, eyeing Jane carefully. “Since I’d very much like to sleep with you too.”

Jane rubbed a hand over her face.

“I just…are we really having this conversation?” Jane sounded a little desperate. “You can’t undo this, once it’s done.”

“I know.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

Maura looked away.

“Of course it does, Jane.”

“As long as we’re both scared.”

She reached for Maura's hand, palm outwards. Maura sighed and placed her hand in Jane's, feeling very tired all of a sudden. She closed her eyes and leant back into the couch, hearing a soft chuckle coming from Jane.

"Yeah, you and me both."


	8. Chapter 8

The body was a mess. Head trauma, multiple contusions and abrasions. He may have been an attractive man once, but there was no way for Maura to tell. His face was shapeless and swollen. The lumps and hollows indicated that the bones had shifted. Crushed, that was the word. This was all his family would see, presuming he had one. Presuming they’d want to see. The side alley was behind several restaurants and it reeked—of fish guts and spoilt meat, of moo shu pork and vomit. Even without looking very hard, Maura’s eyes detected the scattering of used condoms peeking from beside the full dumpster. 

The man, however, he smelt like something sweet. Not cologne, but something thick and fruity. She lent forward to get a better whiff, flicking her eyes up briefly to spot the detectives making their way towards her. Frost strode a few steps ahead of Jane, passing the crime scene techs busy gathering up and preserving messes and emissions. He gave her a nodded hello but she stayed right where she was.

“Can you smell that?” she asked. Frost only glanced once at the man’s face, and she saw it—he went very pale. Then he backed away in a quick movement, retching quietly onto the concrete. Jane’s expression softened for a moment, but he waved a hand at her. A sign to leave him be. Walking up to the body, Jane’s own eyes didn’t waver from the victim’s broken face.

“Wow,” she said. “Who the hell did this guy piss off?”

“I can smell ethanol and a distinct monosaccharide,” Maura reported.

“What?” 

“Probably a vodka cocktail, one heavy in fructose syrup. It’s all over his pants.”

“Well, that’s a girl’s drink.”

“I don’t like to assume gender based on drinking habits, although anecdotal evidence shows that—”

“Maura, what kind of guy drinks a fruity cocktail?”

“A homosexual?”

“Now who’s getting judgey with gender, little miss Labels-Don’t-Matter?” Jane said. “I drink beer, what does that say about me?”

Maura smiled brightly. Jane rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you even,” she warned, holding up a single finger as Maura’s smile transformed into a smirk. Jane shook her head in amusement as she turned back to the body. “There had to be a woman with him. That drink came from somewhere.”

“Perhaps. But that doesn’t make her the killer.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t dream of listening to my _intestines_ instead of you,” Jane said. “I’ll let you examine this guy’s intestines first.”

Frost chose that moment to approach them again, and he immediately looked like he regretted it.

“I’m fine, just…”

“It’s ok, Frost. You don’t have to.”

But Frost shook his head.

“Look at his throat,” he pointed. “Was that done with a boot too?” 

Maura pursed her lips. 

“Even if it was, that doesn’t mean it’s the same killer. You still haven’t been able to find a connecting link between—”

“We’re less than half a block away from the last crime scene, Maur.” 

“I realize that.”

“He’s escalating,” said Frost, forcing himself to stare and stare at the body. At the face. “Whoever this is, they’re not halfway done.”

 

Some people liked to play music to help them meditate. Maura didn’t enjoy the idea of relying on something extraneous to fool her mind into relaxing. Not if she didn’t need it. It wouldn’t do if she was outside her yoga room, trying to create a moment of calm with nothing but her mind to help her. And that’s just what she was doing in her office, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed. Everything felt lighter somehow, her limbs developing tiny pin-pricks as she drifted away a little. Or at least tried to. She heard the sound of her door shift open. Grudgingly, she opened a single eye.

“I brought you coffee,” Jane said. 

Maura reached for it without getting off the floor and Jane gave her a puzzled look.

“I told you your couch sucks.”

“Ha ha,” Maura said, taking a sip of the coffee before deciding she didn't need any more stimulants and placing it beside her. Jane seemed to think about it for a second, but in the end she gave up and slumped onto the floor as well. She was close enough for Maura to feel the movement of the air beside her.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said. “If I was pushy. At the crime scene.”

“You were fine.”

“You’re sitting on the floor, Maura.”

“There are many known health benefits linked to daily meditation.”

“Is one of them a cold butt?”

Maura tried and failed to fight off the smile. Jane laughed. They both became quiet though, after that. Neither of them moved from the floor but it didn’t seem to matter. It wasn’t so much relaxing as distracting, knowing she was there. Imagining the feel of her. Maura was close enough to sense the heat from Jane’s body next to her, but not close enough to be warmed by it.

“I don’t want things to get weird,” Jane said. Maura risked a look at her, but Jane was staring down at her hands. Maura reached out and interlocked their fingers, giving them a small squeeze.

“Don’t worry so much.”

“Can’t help it.”

But there was a trace of a smile on Jane’s mouth, and she didn’t appear scared when she looked up. 

“You’re so goddamn beautiful.” Jane’s voice was low, rough. Her hands weren’t quite still, but they weren’t shaking either. Jane seemed a little amused by herself. Surprised, even. “Just had to say it, ‘cause I’ve kind of wanted to. For a while.”

The warmth Maura felt right then made her smile a little idiotically. Jane lifted their joined hands then, hesitantly, as if waiting for it to become ok. Maura felt the kiss, soft and quick on the surface of her hand. Then it was over. It seemed ludicrous, how thankful she felt for it. She let her body lean to the side a little, bumping her shoulders with Jane’s. And that's how they stayed for the moment, on the floor, like two teenagers just realizing how all of this might work.

“Is it weird?” Jane asked, and her voice was soft, as if she’d been holding in a breath.

“No,” Maura said. “It’s wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crime and romance, together at last. Does it work? You tell me.


	9. Chapter 9

Maura could hear the arguing echoing off the walls. It seemed to come out of the elevator, down the hallway and then it stopped. It stopped but didn't grow any quieter, as the disagreement continued right outside the door to the morgue. Jane's voice was easy to identify: low and calm, gravelly and soothing. The other was extremely high-pitched.

"I don't care. I want to see him."

"Maura?"

She could detect the slight pleading in Jane's voice, and didn't need much more of an invitation. Maura put down her scalpel, peeled off her gloves and marched out the double doors. Jane looked grateful, but the woman narrowed her eyes.

"You say you have him, but he wasn't even in the city that night…"

"Dr. Isles is our Medical Examiner," Jane said carefully. "Maura? This is Mrs. Peters."

The woman was younger than Maura expected, with a thick base of make-up that covered every imperfection but also made her look more orange than was healthy. Her hair was perfectly shaped, save for one lock that frizzed out to the side. Maura wondered if a hand placed on this woman's shoulder, or perhaps a tilt of her head, a reassuring nod, would soften what she was about to say. But she knew better, the same way she knew that this was one of the lies people told themselves when faced with grief. Even through her own limited experience of loss—her personal understanding that continual absences were indeed a form of loss—Maura knew grief was like an extra appendage. For some, it was a phantom limb they carried through the rest of their lives. It was an ache both with and without texture, cruel and invisible but ever present.

"I'm truly very sorry," she offered, but the woman waved her off

"Don't you even. He's fine. It isn't him."

"Detective Rizzoli must have told you," she paused a little, staring at Jane. "We successfully identified your husband by his dental records."

Jane gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head as the woman began to argue again, listing all the reasons why it had to be someone else: someone else's dental records, someone else in the alley, someone else's life.

"Ok," Maura said, motioning to what was waiting for them ahead. The woman went suddenly quiet as they pushed back into the morgue. Jane placed a hand on the small of Maura's back as they brushed past each other and Maura allowed herself some comfort, even though the touch was brief.

The body was covered with a sheet. The examination was at a close and the time had come for him to be released to the family. To this woman. It seemed cruel, the difference between viewing him here and seeing him once removed at the funeral home. His wife was better off seeing him surrounded by flowers, his damaged face made whole again through the careful layering of putty, his body rendered more palpable for the public with the removal and insertion of fluids.

"He doesn't… look like you remember," Jane said softly. "You won't be able to un-see this."

"Please," the woman said.

Jane held her hand and the woman gripped back tightly—so tightly that Maura could see Jane's fingers losing blood, turning white. Jane's eyes found hers and she nodded once. Maura pulled the sheet back.

The reactions never got easier. The soft, hysterical crying turning into gasps for air as the victim's family members collapsed into themselves, curled over or even violently hit out at each other. At anything. This woman's wails were low and harsh as she took it in, that this was her life. Her husband. She didn't speak. Didn't berate God or the police, didn't shake her head and plead one last time that this couldn't be him. Maura locked eyes with Jane, who was calm but clearly affected. She nodded at Maura again. Maura draped the sheet carefully over Mr. Peters as Jane led the woman into a walk. Up and up and back to the noise of the police station, where the reality of this loss would be no easier to accept.

***

Maura took a moment to finish up her notes, to remove her scrubs and generally make herself presentable. It wasn't practical to feel bad at the disparity—that here she was tidying her hair, pulling her dress back over her hips, while upstairs there was a woman without her husband. There would always be a woman grieving the loss of a partner, daughter, father, mother. Always another loss. Another body. The one constant Maura saw in this cycle was her own part in it: the act of putting the loss to rest and finding out the whys and the hows. Finding the killer. That was the meaning behind her examinations—surely a better way to draw your life to a close than the violent act that took it. Maura couldn't claim to have a solution for grief, nor even a way to stop humanity from destroying pieces of itself. But she was there to bear witness to it, and she would be there for as long as she could. She liked to think that counted for something.

When Maura rode the elevator up to find her, Jane wasn't at her desk. She looked over to see Frost at his. He tilted his head as a form of greeting. Maura took Jane's seat without hesitation.

"I think she'll be a while," Frost said.

"She's still interviewing the victim's wife?"

Frost nodded and the silence settled between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, simply a natural part of spending so much time in the same space, the same team.

"She can't be your suspect," Maura looked at him, checking. "She isn't?"

"No," he said simply. "Mrs. Peters's sister is picking her up. Jane's sitting with her, you know."

The thought warmed her, knowing Jane was taking the time, making the time simply because it was needed. Frost gestured at his empty coffee cup then and Maura smiled in agreement. Wordlessly, they stood and made their way to the Division One Café. Maura prepared herself to greet Angela, but was met instead with the sight of Stanley frowning at the small gathering of customers.

"Go on, I'll find you," Frost said, waving it away when Maura tried to offer him money. "It's cool, I owe Jane a few."

Maura liked being reminded of this closeness in the unit: that what was Jane's was hers, but also that this was true for her partner and for Korsak. What was truly wonderful was how this ballooned out and around Jane's family, tugging Maura right up inside it all, marking her as one of them. She wasn't even surprised, just pleased, when Frost remembered how she took her coffee. He slid it in front of her and took a seat. She tilted her head with an impressed expression.

"Hey, I absorb all sorts of information," he said. "Just because you two forget anyone else is around when you're with each other."

She gave him a sly look and continued to drink her coffee. He let out a laugh, but didn't push it.

"They are connected. You know that don't you?"

Maura sighed, able to make the small leap backwards to the man lying on her table. But she nodded, resigning herself to this.

"I suspect so, given the physical proximity of each crime scene, and the likely connection to prostitutes," as she spoke, she stared out across the café, watching the various detectives and uniforms talking, eating, drinking their caffeine fixes. She let the mass of noise meld together so it became incomprehensible. "I can only speak for the science."

Frost didn't argue with that and she was grateful for the gesture.

When Jane walked into the café, Maura noted how quickly her eyes settled on where they were sitting, but in particular she enjoyed the look Jane seemed to reserve just for her. She liked noticing how Jane couldn't resist the urge to touch her, even if it was only a hand on her shoulder, the brush of her arm. This time Maura was rewarded with a light touch on the back of her neck. Jane's hand seemed to itch to go higher, because a single finger brushed Maura's chin before Jane pulled her hand away. Maura looked up dreamily. Jane held her gaze for a moment, only blinking away when Frost cleared his throat.

"Sister-in-law have anything to add?"

"Nope," Jane said. Taking a seat, she reached over and snatched up Maura's coffee. She smiled into her sip, a challenge in her expression as Maura raised her eyebrows back at her.

"I'm going to take this as a sign," Maura said. "That you don't miss all the sugar you put into your coffee."

"No, I do," Jane said, eyes widening. "This is horrible."

"You're like a cat," Maura observed. "You only want it because it's mine."

Frost laughed suddenly and loudly, causing Jane to narrow her eyes. The moment passed though, and the humor evaporated all too quickly. Jane ran a hand over her face, her eyes closing. Maura wished she could take the tiredness away and hold it. Stop it. Make it hers instead of Jane's. When Jane let out a sigh Maura could see the same heaviness in Frost, the weight of it on the two of them as they sat there.

"I really want to get this guy."

"We'll get him," Frost nodded. Maura found herself nodding too, wondering if this act of reassurance counted as lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making a tentative promise that there won't be as long to wait until the next chapter. Like everyone else in this fandom, I have been very saddened by the loss of Lee Thompson Young. But I can't imagine not including Frost in this. Perhaps that's why this chapter had to be so much about grief.


	10. Chapter 10

The birds in her garden had been quiet lately. Maura's courtyard wasn't exactly the wild of nature, not like her parent's cabin or the woods that backed against her boarding school in France. Her birds, for she thought of them as hers, weren't particularly special or noteworthy. Sparrows, a pigeon or two and, if she is lucky, maybe a robin. She set up a bird-bath on one of her days off and liked sitting out with her morning coffee, perfectly still so the birds dipped and sang and soon forgot she was there.

They were dead now. Two of them. First she found the pigeon, and then to her surprise the sparrows. One after the other, left on the brickwork like discarded leaves and clippings.

Jane arrived already in her sweats and t-shirt, her own version of yoga pants that Maura was intending to break her habit of.

"What?"

Maura nodded down at the latest dead sparrow. The last one, perhaps.

"Oh," Jane said, and she came and gave Maura's shoulder a squeeze. "Really? After all the death you see?"

"It's the fourth one, Jane."

"The fourth what?"

"This week," Maura said. "They keep dying."

Jane closed her eyes, like she was chastising herself for making light of it. The next time she talked her voice was soft.

"It's probably a cat."

"Sparrows are notoriously hard prey to catch."

"What, have you tried to catch them yourself?"

Maura shook her head, but not really as a response. It was to shake the thought away, the irrational one that there was more to this than the violence of nature ending up on her doorstep.

"Come on," Jane said. "I bet you have lots of painful yoga planned for me. That'll cheer you up."

***

Yoga usually did cheer her up, especially if she felt Jane there beside her, wincing and huffing and contorting into position. It made her smile, because when she turned to look there Jane sat, perfectly holding each pose, core muscles taught and her breaths even. The frown on her face was comical, given how naturally she took to yoga.

"I think you secretly love it," she said, after they had been through several poses.

"Really?" Jane may have been rolling her eyes, but Maura didn't turn to check. A moment later, Jane let out an annoyed huff and slumped onto the mat, making a little grunt of tiredness. Maura smiled to herself but didn't budge.

"Well, you'll just have to wait for me to finish."

She heard Jane snicker.

"Didn't say I was going anywhere," Jane said. Maura could detect the way Jane's voice dipped into her lower register, could imagine the way her pupils dilated as Maura finished up a Bharadvaja's twist before deciding on some more intense leg stretches.

"Oh my God. Stop looking so damn smug," Jane rasped.

"This is just how I look when I'm doing Hanumanāsana."

"Otherwise known as the splits," Jane said, exhaling. "You're doing this on purpose."

Maura smiled again and gave Jane a quick glance, feigning innocence.

"You're trying to destroy me."

"I can't help that I'm flexible, Jane."

"God."

Maura laughed and moved into a basic sitting asana, stretching her neck a couple of times for good measure.

"It's not my fault you can't quell your desire to ravage me."

"Maura, what? Ugh," Jane murmured, closing her eyes and unconsciously licking her lips. Maura laughed lightly and reached over, rubbing a thumb over Jane's cheek. Jane let out a shaky breath.

"It's ok," Maura teased. "You know I don't mind."

"This is just…so much…"

Maura pulled her hand away and Jane's eyes opened immediately.

"Maura, I..."

"Look, I'm sorry that..." Maura offered. "That I get so carried away…" She found herself unable to complete the thought due to how close their bodies were, and because of the look on Jane's face—her eyes lidded, her breathing heavy. Maura must have widened her eyes,because this time Jane was the one who looked smug. Leaning forward, Jane kissed her hungrily. Maura felt it, lightly traveling through all her nerve endings, even after Jane pulled away, pressing their foreheads together. She let out a satisfied hum and Jane chuckled, their lips brushing once more. Maura could feel Jane's smile.

"You and your damn yoga," Jane breathed. "You're gonna give me a heart attack."

Maura's eyes met hers. She leant back on her arms and cocked her head ever so slightly.

"While it may be possible to experience a fatal coronary event from sexual intercourse, you're certainly not in the high risk category," she swallowed then, her eyes traveling down Jane's neck, to her collarbone, her shoulders, her arms. "Given your… physical strength and virility."

"Virility? I'm not a guy," Jane huffed and Maura could se the beginnings of a pout. She smiled.

"It refers to raw sexual magnetism, Jane. It's a mistake to assume women don't embody those characteristics, regardless of the fact that it's derived from the Latin, _Vir_ , meaning—"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence, because Jane pulled her into a kiss again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: something a little bit extra and nice, to make up for the melancholy in the last one.
> 
> edited to add: this will be updated. I have a few other commitments right now, and a WIP doesn't fit with them. Particularly one I have this many plans for. This isn't the end. I will continue.


End file.
